


Peter and Elias Move to the Suburbs

by Lenjamin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Break Up, Crack Treated Seriously, Elias is feral and violent, Horny Elias and Peter, Humor, Idiots in whatever Elias and Peter feel towards each other, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia References, M/M, bc they're fucking stupid and Elias has insurmountable hubris, canon-typical eldritch atrocities and crimes against humankind, part of the ongoing lonelyeyes divorce soap opera, that's what this whole fic is, you'll understand why very soon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22371064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenjamin/pseuds/Lenjamin
Summary: Simon has a wager for Peter and Elias. In order for them to win it, they'll have to survive a month in the suburbs without killing each other. There's just one problem: they're Peter and Elias.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Peter Lukas/Jonah Magnus, Simon Fairchild & Peter Lukas & Elias Bouchard, you know. they're all bros
Comments: 100
Kudos: 338





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You probably know what this is based on. (If you don't, it's S11E5 of It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia, but you don't need to have watched the episode to follow what's going on. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.)
> 
> Sorry but not sorry for use of footnotes. I think I'm funny and I like Good Omens.
> 
> This work contains spoilers for MAG 158.

Peter and Elias were in the honeymoon phase again, and everyone hated it. 

Though normally insufferable enough on its own, their relationship’s valleys and peaks brought new degrees of disgust to anyone unfortunate enough to do business with both the Lukases and the Institute. At the best of times, things were stable enough that no one had to deal with a particularly vindictive Elias or moody Peter, only navigating their casual mentions of each other and occasional jabs—and at their worst, Elias was prepared to sue anyone and everyone who mentioned Peter for emotional damages. Their “divorces”[1] were bad enough, though thankfully no one could remember the last time Elias tried killing archival assistants for sport. Yet somehow, it was always the utter, caring devotion they displayed after a reunion that caused the stomach to really churn. Perhaps it was something about the hypocrisy of two men who each proclaimed their sole self-interest, and who would both inevitably succumb to the emotional entropy of visceral hatred, engaging in such an oblivious display of devotion amidst a social sphere built on shared cynicism. Or maybe everyone just thought they had cooties.

Either way, the current circumstances had led one Simon Fairchild to do some real thinking. He was tired of hearing Peter go on about the blueness of Jonah’s eyes in investment meetings, and he was tired of both of their heads being out of the game. If he couldn’t put a stop to it, he could very well teach them a lesson.

So it was that Simon, Peter, and Elias found themselves dining at a rather exquisite upscale restaurant somewhere in central London.[2] You know, to discuss business. No other reason.

“But as it turned out, the pilots had managed to effectively preoccupy themselves with a lemon of all things, and the _single_ 'steward' was an incompetent idiot. None of them noticed a single thing was wrong with the sky at all. And really, at that point, there isn’t much I could’ve done. Complete waste of my time and money.”

“I had one like that once. We chartered a fellow who did nothing but read in his cabin all day.” Peter, who for all intents and purposes looked normal to everyone but Simon, was clearly concentrating very hard on filtering out the lap proximity of a remarkably well-behaved Elias’s hand. Elias, for his part, was staring directly at Simon, a taunt that was stunningly clear for its lack of telekinesis.

“Well, I think we can all agree this has been absolutely scrumptious,” said Simon,[3] before things could go any farther. “But I must admit I brought us together with some ulterior motives.”

“Remind me how that’s surprising,” said Elias, whose hand had gone higher judging by Peter’s sudden impeccable stillness.

Simon chuckled drolly. “Quite right. Although this time, I think you’ll find my agenda rather titillating. You see, I’d like to propose a wager.”

Just as he’d expected, the two’s decorum changed instantly at the word “wager.” Elias subtly straightened his tie, and Peter’s eye had taken on a mischievous glint completely unrelated to the activities of a few moments ago.

Simon smiled. “Yes, I thought that might interest you. You see, I can’t help but notice, as have all of our other colleagues, that you two have once more found your way into—what do they call it?—domestic bliss, I believe.”

“And what’s your point?” Elias snarled, looking dangerously like a predator about to rip open Peter’s shirt and devour him in front of polite company.

“Oh, nothing, nothing, I’m... very pleased to see you both working together so well, as it were. But I can’t help but wonder, have the two of you ever tried... cohabitating?”

A near imperceptible twitch in Peter’s face, and Simon knew he had what he was looking for. Elias, who seemed somewhat taken aback but would never show it, calmly retreated.

“No, I can’t say that we have. But if you mean to imply—"

“Not implying anything, just gathering background information. Now, I have a cozy little place out in the suburbs—don’t worry, there’s nothing particularly _vast_ about it,” he said, as the two grew suspicious looks, “just some property holdings from back in the day. I’m curious to know if the two of you can spend an entire month there without, um, taking it out on each other.”

The two exchanged a small glance. As messy as they tended to be, Elias and Peter weren’t stupid. They’d had enough screaming fits to know how the cycle of their relationship generally went. But there was always something to be said for defending one’s pride.

“All right. What are you wagering?” said Peter.

“Well, I’ll start with this. If you win, I’ll fund every single wedding _and_ honeymoon you ever have. Blank check.”

Elias scoffed. “Neither of us are in need of money.”

“No? Don’t you think those Institute funds could be better used than for your own romantic vacations, Jonah? And Peter, surely the Lukas family isn’t happy about you spending their hard-earned cash on excursions and festivities and the like. Not a very Lonely activity, after all, is it?”

This time, the two blatantly refused to look at each other. 

“And if we lose?” Elias said.

“If you lose, the next time you two separate—and you will separate, that’s a given _especially_ if you lose—you’ll spend a month in my, ah, special place and reflect on the nature of your relationship. Neutral territory, you see. Good for mediation.”

Peter frowned and murmured a “Now hold on just a moment, Simon, that doesn’t seem—" just as Elias slammed his hands on the table and said “Absolutely not” as he stood in indignation. Simon held up a hand.

“Alright, alright. You’re quite right, I don’t want to cause any damage. How does a week sound?”[4]

Elias sat back down. His expression was one Simon had seen many times before, which meant he was scheming. Peter, as unreadable as he always was, also seemed to be considering.

“Alright then. You’re on.” Elias held out his hand. Simon took it with a smile.

“Erm, Jonah...” Peter’s protest died on his lips as Elias touched him reassuringly, if not condescendingly, with his free hand. Simon leaned for the check.

“Right then. I’ll see you all tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course, Simon. Come along, darling, we must be going.” Elias rushed Peter out of the restaurant before Simon could sign his (fake) name with a flourish, the sailor stumbling and stammering all the way out the door.

* * *

Outside the restaurant, a bewildered Peter spun to face Elias on the curb. “Jonah, you can’t just go agreeing to things like that without my—"

Elias held up a finger, the other hand still gripping Peter by the shoulders. “Not to worry, Peter. I have a plan.”

“Oh, do you?” said Peter, with mild annoyance. As much as Elias loved getting a rise out of him, this was not the time.

“Yes, I do. Now, Simon thinks we can’t live in the same house for a month, and perhaps he’s right. But we don’t have to be _together_ for most of that time.”

“I’m still not convinced this is a good idea.”

“Peter, listen to me. I know you need your space, and that’s perfectly fine. But you’re forgetting that this house is in the _suburbs_. The nice and spacious suburbs, where there’s hardly any noise and the neighbors never talk to each other. I think that sounds like the perfect place for a Lonely holiday. Don’t you?”

Peter stroked his beard. “You know, that is a good point. Do you think Simon made it the suburbs on purpose? To trick us?”

“On purpose, yes. But I wouldn’t call it a trick. I think he chose it to sweeten the deal, so that you wouldn’t decline outright. And now, we can use it to our advantage.”

Peter nodded. “Okay. What are you thinking?”

“It’s simple. During the day, I’ll spend my time at the Institute, and you can shut yourself away here, all alone. And at night, well, we’ll just have to make it work.”

“Hopefully, we’ll be preoccupied anyway,” said Peter, with a smile that was halfway between a smirk and a dopey grin. Elias suddenly found himself feeling very feverish, and grabbed Peter forcefully by the collar to pull him in for a long kiss.

“That’s the spirit. Now, shall I call you a cab, or would you like a ride?”

“That depends on where we’re going, doesn’t it?”

“Good point. I know the answer if you do.” Before the two of them went anywhere, however, there was a bit of impromptu snogging against the side of the restaurant. If any of the other patrons noticed through the thin film of Lonely that Peter had unconsciously gathered around them, then they didn’t interfere. Which was just as well, since there was no telling what Elias would have done.

“Jonah?” Peter said, in between bouts of having his mouth preoccupied.

“Hmm?”

“We don’t exactly have the best track record. Do you really think this will work?”

“Peter, I have absolute confidence in us. Just think of what we could do with Simon’s funds. And besides, we’re together _now_. That’s all that matters.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Peter gathered Elias around him once again, and for a while, there was silence.

* * *

The next day, the three of them stood outside a pleasant, wholly unremarkable one-bedroom house, which squatted innocently at the end of a cul-de-sac.

“Well, here you are. I do hope this is enough room for you,” said Simon.

“It’s not as _spacious_ as I’d expected. I’d almost say it looks pleasant,” Elias said mildly.

Simon smiled cunningly. “Enjoy your stay. I’ll be around to visit soon.” No one noticed him go, but then again, the human mind is not programmed to notice the sky’s embrace.

Peter took his pipe out of his mouth. “You know, now that we’re here, it doesn’t look so bad. Nice and quiet, just like you said.”

“I agree. And we’ll have it all to ourselves. I think we could turn it into paradise.”

In just a few short weeks, it would be hell on earth.

* * *

1Legally, Elias Bouchard and Peter Lukas have only been married one time. This particular occasion was not the first time they had gotten together (not that they could have done it back then if they’d wanted to, since it hadn’t been legal yet) and they had both been absolutely plastered when they’d done it. This added a veneer of disorientation to the whole affair, which might have accounted for the fact that they’d tried to file for divorce three times since then.[return to text]

2Simon was of course footing the bill, which meant he’d gotten to choose the restaurant. But it helped that, as members of an immortal fear bourgeoisie, they all had the same basic tastes.[return to text]

3He’d had a lovely conversation with an aerophobic young server who had to fly back to their home country for a funeral in a few days, and promised them a wonderful trip. Elias had given a valet some disturbing information about her childhood, and Peter was still digesting a particularly unconfident man whose date had stood him up.[return to text]

4This was the wager he had intended all along, but Peter and Elias didn’t need to know that.[return to text]


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god Elias doesn't have a Bentley for Crowley reasons. He has a Bentley for rich reasons.

**Day 1**

To spite Simon, Peter and Elias had already had sex on the couch, the table, the floor, and the staircase.[1] So, overall, things were going accountably well.

As Elias sat at the kitchen table, replenishing his electrolytes with a glass of mineral water, Peter was at the countertop preparing something. Neither had any pants on.[2]

“It’s not a bad place,” Peter said. “I think I quite like it, actually. The décor’s not bad.”

“We’re very fortunate that Simon has some sense of taste.” Elias noticed a wrinkle in his very loosened tie and, tsking at it, attempted to straighten it out before sniffing the air. “I didn’t know you could cook,” he said.

“I can, I just don’t often.” Peter smiled over his shoulder as he turned off the stove. When he turned, there were two full, steaming bowls in his hands. He brought them over to the table, handing one to Elias.

The bowl was full of a thick, milky liquid, scattered with buoyant chunks of potato and garnished with a few oyster crackers. It smelled delicious.

“Clam chowder,” said Elias, surprised.

“Yes! Old recipe. It’s the Lukas family clam chowder.”

Elias picked up his spoon and, blowing off the steam, took a sip.

“Peter, I must say I’m pleasantly surprised. This is quite good.”

“Why, thank you, Jonah.”

“When you said family recipe, I was expecting something more...”

“Bland? I know, I was quite surprised myself.”

They ate in silence, and then, when they were all finished:

“So. Erm. What should we do now?” Peter said, looking pointedly at Elias.

Elias shrugged, making it as dignified as a shrug could be. “I’m not sure.”

They stared at each other.

And this was where their brilliant plan fell apart, because, as many times as Elias and Peter had followed one another to social events and spent late mornings in each other’s company, they hadn’t ever been together without a purpose. Being creatures of habit, and being, as both of them were, very used to a solitary lifestyle, it was hard to find room for one another that wasn’t part of a scheme, or a plan, or something equally fun and vindictive.

They had both failed to see the implicit joke when Simon offered them a place in the suburbs: neither of them were capable of building anything even remotely resembling domestic intimacy because their relationship was entirely based on destruction.

“We could just have more sex.”

“I don’t know. We had a lot earlier.”

“If that’s what you think.”

“You’re not worn out?”

“No, I didn’t say that.” Elias stretched. “I suppose we could just... hm. Sleep?” The idea was somewhat foreign to both of them. Not that they didn’t, but sometimes they just... forgot. After all, it was hard to see what was happening or feel truly alone if you were sleeping.

“That sounds fine.”

Half an hour later, the two of them were laying rather stiffly in the queen-sized[3] bed that adorned the master bedroom. It was just slightly too small for Peter, as it turned out, and they were both awkwardly shunted to the sides in an attempt to make as much space as possible. Neither of them were much for canoodling, though post-coitus was sometimes an exception.

Elias turned to face Peter. “How are you feeling now, sex-wise?”

Peter sighed. “Good night, Jonah.” He leaned over to turn off the light and, as he did so, he heard a faint crackle.

“Did you hear that?” he said.

“No. I didn’t hear anything,” Elias replied.

“Huh,” said Peter, and rolled over.

Elias was in fact hearing something, but he didn’t realize it until the house had gotten completely quiet. A quick Beholding told him it was the pool filter, outside humming a dreadful rattle at just the right pitch to set his teeth on edge. But he would ignore it for now, he decided, if he could. Maybe Peter’s residual Lonely would be enough to block out the sound.

* * *

Peter’s residual Lonely had not been enough to block out the sound, which had kept Elias awake for most of the night. Like a low, distant foghorn, it had been impossible for him to shake the noise entirely, distant as it was.

He stretched, and realized as his arm hit the empty side of the bed that Peter was no longer there. Not that this was unusual; in fact, it was practically routine. What jarred Elias more was remembering why they were in this particular setup.

He Beheld the house to see if he could notice anything. To his surprise, Peter was once again in the kitchen downstairs, making coffee.

Peter, coincidentally, had not slept remarkably well either. He’d kept waking up in the night, disturbed by the unshakeable sensation that his Loneliness was being invaded. He still hadn’t figured out what about the house had set him on edge, but he was certain he’d kept hearing that crackle. At any rate, he’d have a chance to investigate later.

Elias shuffled downstairs in his silk pajamas, wordlessly taking the coffee Peter handed him. Neither of them said anything. It was how they preferred it.

Once he had downed all his coffee, and once he could tell Peter was feeling a bit less Lonely, Elias said “All things considered, I had hoped the bed would be a bit more comfortable.”

Peter simply nodded and, softly because he was still waking up, said “Did you happen to hear the–”

“–The pool filter last night? I did.”

“Oh. Hm. I suppose that’s what it was.”

“Perhaps you can take a look at it today.”

“If you’d like.”

“Yes, I think that would be a good idea. It kept me up half the night.”

“Oh, dear,” said Peter.

“Not to worry,” Elias said, standing. “I’ve got the commute to relax.”

What Elias meant by “relax,” however, would be better translated by the general public as “letting off some steam.”

Stopped at a standstill, knowing full well there had been an accident a mile or so ahead as he could See it quite easily, Elias leaned on his Bentley’s horn at a steady pace and concentrated hard on the stress of the driver in front of him. From what he could tell, she had also noticed that he was slowly inching closer and closer to her rear bumper, a panic that was deliciously seasoned with the fact that her infant child sat in the back seat. Good.

Concentrating, Elias pressed terrible visions into her brain of what his top-shape Bentley could do to her worn out sedan if he’d wanted, ones of someone just behind them getting a little too impatient and trying to ram their way through the wall of cars, of her car flipping over on the highway. He found the image of the accident up ahead and threw that into her mind too, forcing her to understand how easily it could have happened to her and her child.

Through his windshield, he could see her clutch her head in distress and shake desperately, trying to rid herself of the visions. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She looked up, and he made sure she could see him staring at her in the rearview mirror.

When he got to work, he was feeling quite refreshed indeed.

* * *

That evening, Elias pulled into the driveway of the house, finding the street blissfully quiet. To his surprise, the front door opened and out came Peter, wearing more or less the same clothes he had been yesterday.

“What’s this? You didn’t miss me, did you?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” said Peter, taking one of Elias’s hands in his own and kissing it. “But I figured I should probably warn you about–”

“Hi there!” came a voice from their right. A distinctly accented voice.

“ _Him_ ,” said Peter disdainfully.

“Oh, good god. An American,” muttered Elias.

In the front yard of the adjacent house stood a far too friendly man in business casual clothing, looking at them with a gaze that was too overbearing[4] even for Elias. He waved and, to both of their horror, began strolling towards them.

“Nice to meet you guys! It’s good to see other new faces in the neighborhood. I just moved here last week!”

As he spoke, Elias and Peter stared at him, completely unmoving. Directly at him. Given that one of them had dominion over the fear of being watched and the other rarely made eye contact with any living soul, this had a remarkably disorienting effect. Their neighbor faltered suddenly, and felt a chill up his spine as if the temperature had dropped a few degrees.

“It’s, uh. It’s a nice night, though, isn’t it?”

They continued to stare. He felt worse by the second.

“Okay. Well, I, uh. I’ll see you around, then.” He waved again, much weaker this time, and practically took off running back towards his house.

With the spell broken, the two of them were left to deal with the psychological repercussions of their encounter. Peter looked desperately exhausted, and Elias felt uncomfortable all over. Wordlessly, he marched Peter back inside.

The two of them simply stood in the entryway for a moment, processing. Then, they exploded.

“Can you _believe_ the complete lack of–”

“–absolutely no regard for privacy–”

“–utterly _disgusting_ –”

“–why would he–”

“–thinks he can just _talk_ to us like–”

“–leave us _alone_?”

Elias folded his arms, cornered but not conceding defeat. “Well, at least we’re in agreement.”

Peter nodded glumly. “There’s dinner ready. I’ll need a moment.” He was already fading into the fog.

Thankfully, by the time Elias had finished changing, Peter was back downstairs looking slightly more perky if still not worse for the wear.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes. You know, I kept feeling last night like there was something very un-Lonely happening nearby. I suspect that may have been it.”

“Hmm. Yes, that seems very likely.” Elias glanced at the stove. “Is that clam chowder again?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“Not particularly.” Elias sat down at the dining table, ready to perform the dance of faux domesticity once again.

“How was work?” said Peter, pretending to be interested.

“Fine. The same as usual.” Elias peered at the neighbors on the other side of their back wall. They were arguing. “And you? Did you do anything interesting today?”

“Well, I looked at that pool filter like you mentioned, but it’s much too complicated for me to handle, I’m afraid,” said Peter, almost cheerful now. “So instead, I just explored the house.”

“Anything worthwhile?”

“Not particularly. There’s not much here, all things considered. Simon left it nice and empty for us.”

“Did he.”

“Oh, I don’t think it was malicious. More considerate than anything, really. There’s lots of things we could do with the space if we wanted.”

“Like what, exactly?”

“Hm. I don’t know.” Peter turned back to the chowder.

“Well. It sounds as though you could be more productive tomorrow, then. And... ‘do something’ with the place.”

Peter smiled neutrally.

* * *

**Day 4**

“Sex?”

“Mm. Maybe later.” Peter turned the page in the book he was reading without looking up.

Elias rolled his eyes, and returned to Words with Friends.

**Day 5**

Peter sat upright in bed.

“Jonah – Elias,” he whispered. “That noise. I heard again.”

“It’s the damn pool filter,” Elias hissed through the pillow around his head. “Shut up and go back to sleep.”

**Day 7**

“Peter, I’m – Peter?”

Elias searched the house, but Peter was nowhere to be found. He scoffed, and sat down to another bowl of clam chowder.

**Day 11**

Elias slammed the car door shut as he stormed up the driveway. Today had not been good; too much paperwork always put him on edge, and he was having trouble explaining to Nathaniel Lukas why his favorite nephew was cooped up in the suburbs and not in the middle of the ocean. He could only call it a “money-making endeavor” so many times before Nathaniel asked what kind of “money” he was “making”.

Out of the corner of his eye[5], he noticed movement, and turned to see their American neighbor standing on his front lawn watering some plants. Having seen Elias already, he was frozen in place, watching fearfully for any further action.

“Uh – hi there, again,” he said, trying his best to smile. “It’s, uh – nice night, right?”

Elias straightened himself. “Your father never wanted you, Wallace.”

“I – that’s – how did you know my name–?”

“He got your mother pregnant on accident, and when he found out, he tried to leave her. She had to hold her financial control over his head to get him to stay. He did his very best to hide it from you, of course, but that doesn’t change how he always felt, deep down inside.” Calmly, Elias pressed the knowledge into Wallace’s head, and he knew it was true.

“Oh my – god...” Wallace dropped the watering can, tears beginning to well in his eyes. “No... how–”

Leaving him to his panic attack and subsequent crisis, Elias marched inside, preparing to talk to an empty house. Peter had been mostly hiding from him, as the living situation had likely gotten too close for comfort. “I’m getting so very tired of neighbors who try to _talk_ to you and quite frankly I’m sick of living so close to other people, it was _never_ like this back when _I_ was younger and all the estates were _acres apart_ –”

He blinked. Peter was sitting on the living room sofa, looking at Elias with mild concern, and there was someone else there with him. Another man, who looked to be about Peter’s age (or at least the age he appeared), with a distinctly gruff everyman vibe about him.

“Lovely to see you, Elias,” Peter chirped. “This is Alan. He’s here to fix the pool filter, but we were just chatting. I found out he used to be a boat mechanic and we got to swapping stories.”

“I’m sorry. You were–” Elias took a deep breath. “ _Peter_. Can I speak to you in the foyer for a moment?”

“Certainly.” Peter stood, looking perfectly calm. Alan, on the other hand, was beginning to understand that an uncomfortable situation was happening.

Out of sight now, Elias fixed his menacing gaze on Peter.

“What seems to be the problem, Elias?” Peter said with an air of innocence.

“Nothing, Peter. I’m just curious why, after five _entire_ days of ignoring me, I walk in to find you ‘swapping stories’ with a complete stranger as if that’s something you do regularly. How dare you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Elias,” said Peter coldly.

“Oh, I think you do know what I’m talking about. You’re trying to make me feel Lonely. This is all a plan to hurt me because you’re bored. You’re even calling me _Elias_ , for god’s sake, which you don’t do unless you’re angry at me or we’re getting another divorce.”

“I resent that implication.”

“Well, I _resent_ you behaving like a child.”

“That’s bold coming from you, _Elias_.”

“I think what’s bold is pretending you have friends, Peter.”

“Oh? Is that what this is? I could have friends and you wouldn’t even know. Maybe I know people who understand me better than you do. Maybe that’s what I see in Alan. Maybe I _fancy_ him–”

“Shut up.” Elias slapped Peter across the face.

Finally, blissfully, Peter made full eye contact, staring at Elias with an unreadable expression. Then, he grabbed him around the middle and smashed him up against the nearest wall, pressing their mouths together violently. Elias melted into the touch, reacting with equal ferocity. He reached up and grabbed a fistful of Peter’s hair, pulling hard.

“I hate your idea of foreplay, Peter.”

“No, you don’t.” Peter broke into soft moans as Elias bit at his neck. “There’s still–”

“Yes, hang on.” Elias concentrated for a second, and Alan broke into screams in the other room. The poor mechanic ran past them and out the door, not sparing a glance at the mess happening in the hallway.

“Ah. Where’s he gone?”

“Probably to blind himself, so he never has to see the images I put in his mind again,” Elias huffed.

Peter looked at him hungrily. “You’re terrible.”

“I know.”

Their mouths met again, and with little effort Peter lifted Elias and carried him towards the staircase.

* * *

A few hours later they were both lying in bed, awake and fully naked except for Peter’s hat, which he was still wearing. Peter puffed on his pipe, while Elias took slow drags from a cigarette that may or may not have been laced with something else.

“I admit this bet may not have been the best decision.” Elias blew a cloud of smoke. It looked somewhat like an eye.

“This is fairly normal for us.” Peter’s smoke swarmed around his head like fog.

“I agree, but we’ve still got a few weeks to go.” He took another drag. “I think we should invite Simon over for a visit, show him we’re doing completely fine, and then see if we can’t talk him down somewhat on the terms we made. Perhaps we can get something else in exchange.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you.” Peter rolled over, looking expectantly at Elias’s cigarette. Furrowing his brow, Elias drew it closer to himself.

“What? You’ve got your own.”

“Not like yours, I don’t.”

Sighing, Elias handed it over.

“Thank you.” Peter kissed him, slow and sweet.

“Yes, alright. Just don’t waste all of it.”

“Wouldn’t dare.” The special cigarette lulled Peter into a calm buzz, one as welcoming as his own Lonely. He found himself drifting ever so slightly. Then, he heard it again.

“Jonah? Did you hear that? It was the noise.”

“Hmh,” said Elias, also relaxed. “It’s probably nothing.”

* * *

1But surprisingly, not the bed.[return to text]

2If you’re British, this sentence comes off differently. Luckily, your humble author is American, but then again, authors are generally assumed to be dead.[return to text]

3Standard double for Brits. See? These footnotes can actually be helpful.[return to text]

4Aka, neighborly and downright hospitable.[return to text]

5Metaphorically, of course – his peripheral vision was Everywhere.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deliberately made it so this fic can take place any time between like, the late aughts and the end of season 3, which means it's up to you to imagine who Elias is playing Words with Friends with. My personal picks would be Gertrude and or Tim.
> 
> The next chapter might be a short while since I have a feeling it's going to be even longer and I don't know how busy I'll be, but I'll do my best to get it out quickly! Miraculously, and probably at the neglect of other things I should be doing, I'm actually ahead of schedule with this one. With any luck, I estimate a week and a half at most before the conclusion.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This next chapter has something I like to call “reverse bed-sharing.”
> 
> Also, possible trigger warning for trypophobia and or scopophobia. Because, you know.

**Day 13**

“Ah, Simon. Come in.” Elias held the door open as Simon smiled politely. It was early evening, and Peter and Elias had done their best to make the house look lived-in and comfortable in the hopes of fooling Simon. Chances of this being successful were incredibly low, but they had no way of knowing that.

“Jonah. Lovely to see you.” Simon strolled into the foyer. “And how’s Peter?”

“Oh, fine, just fine.[1] He’s in the kitchen.”

“Wonderful. Oh, I do hope you don’t mind, but I brought a guest.” Simon stepped aside and, to Elias’s great surprise, in walked Mikaele Salesa. The tall Samoan clapped Elias on the shoulder in greeting, and he lurched forward with the impact.

“Ah. Bouchard. Where’s the captain?” Salesa said with a smile that was business-friendly and nothing else.

“He’s – inside...” Elias grumbled as Salesa stepped past him. “Peter! It’ll be supper for four, not three...”

“So hospitable of you, Elias,” Simon beamed.

“Simon, what is the meaning of this?”

“Nothing! Mikaele and I were just talking a little business and I mentioned Peter and, well, he seemed excited to see his old friend again. I could hardly say no, could I?”

“You could.”

“Too late for that now, isn’t it? So it goes.” Simon ignored Elias’s glares and strode down the hall to the dining room.

The table was now set for four people, and Peter was ladling hot bowls of clam chowder out of a pot as Mikaele greeted him. If Elias hadn’t known any better, he would have said Peter was smiling.

“Salesa! Out of my kitchen,” Elias snapped, gesturing to the table. “It’s suppertime.”

“It’s _our_ kitchen, dearest,” Peter reminded him gently. And oh right, they were supposed to be in domestic bliss.

“Yes... _our_ kitchen,” Elias said, with a tone that sounded more Grinch-like than tender. “And that’s _my_... lovely... man... whose attention you’re stealing.” He walked over and gave Peter a smack on the ass, hoping that would seal the deal. Peter glared at him, arms full of hot soup.

Seated at the table, the four tried to pretend like they weren’t having the strangest dinner party ever. Salesa was telling Peter about a crew member who’d had an experience with a particularly nasty Desolation artefact and managed to survive, while Simon was listening along and Elias was trying to shove down his clam chowder like he meant it.

“My, this soup is fantastic, Peter,” Simon said. “Is it really yours?”

“Yes, it's quite wonderful. I can’t believe I still haven’t gotten tired of it after having it for dinner every single night,” said Elias, praying his words would somehow manifest a second dinner option.

“I'm glad to hear things are going so swimmingly for the two of you,” Simon said, smiling. “I got it in my head to offer you a reduced wager if you were cracking, but it seems you don’t even need it.”

At this, Peter and Elias both froze, trying and failing to appear as visibly nonchalant as they could.

“Ah. Well. Isn’t that interesting. Sorry you think so lowly of us, Simon, but we don’t need your charity. Isn’t that right, Peter?”

“Hmm,” Peter said.

“But, erm, just out of curiosity –”

“Oh, I was going to offer you both a nice, all-expenses paid holiday to the resort of your choice, for some cool-down time. After you’d finished your _other_ holiday, of course.”

Separately, Peter and Elias were both thinking very, very hard about this.

“Well. It’s a good thing we’re going to win, then,” Elias said finally.

“Mmm,” said Peter.

Simon turned to Salesa. “So, you’ve seen them now. What do you think?”

Salesa glanced at Elias and Peter, then back at Simon, and shrugged. “Sure. I’m in.”

“What? In for what?” said Elias.

“Mikaele heard about the wager and wanted in. He thinks you can make it, which is very brash and not altogether intelligent of him, in my mind.”

“I – do you mean to tell me _that’s_ why he’s here? So you can further turn this into a circus?” Elias sneered.

“Certainly. And you two are the clowns, Elias. I’m sure you’ve realized that by now. So, if you’d want to quit while you’re ahead...”

“No. Absolutely not,” Elias said. Peter fixed him with a look of resigned desperation, but said nothing.

“Very well. Then, Mikaele, if you win, you can have that holiday.”

The Samoan nodded. “I could sure use one.”

“And if you lose, you’ll have one at my place.”

Somehow, not so far in the back of his mind, the thing that affronted Elias most about this was not that Simon had made a further mockery of his and Peter’s relationship, but the idea that he might have to spend his time in the Endless with Mikaele Salesa for company. “That’s ludicrous. Peter, tell him it’s ludicrous.”

Salesa frowned. “Why? It’s not so bad. Heights never scared me much. Besides, all you need to do to win is just exist. You seem to be doing that fine already.”

Elias considered the possibility of continuing to exist with Peter. He considered it, and the more he considered it the more unbearable it became, as it always did when they found once again that they had exhausted the fun and mischief from each other’s lives.

Salesa stood. “I’d better be heading out.” He grasped Peter’s hand firmly and shook it, other hand on the captain’s shoulder. “Lukas. Good seeing you. Call me when you need anything.”

As deflated as Peter was, Salesa’s touch seemed to brighten him up a bit. Elias pretended he didn’t notice.

Simon made to follow Salesa, and simply winked at Elias as he grabbed his coat and left.

* * *

It was late. All traces of dinner had vanished, and the two of them were sitting territorially in different rooms, not looking at one another. It had been like this for the past hour.

Elias, in the living room, downed his third glass of wine without interrupting his staring contest with the wall, but was still careful not to spill any on his expensive robe. Peter considered the small glass and the large bottle in front of him on the dining table.

Both of them had been thinking the same thing since Simon and Salesa had left, though they had no way of knowing it. What they were thinking was, directly or indirectly, along the lines of what Simon had said to them earlier. The grease paint and fake noses were beginning to come off.[2]

“I don't really want to lose.” Surprisingly, Peter spoke first. Elias blinked, finding this turn of events unexpected.

“Yes,” he said. “I agree.” He looked into his glass, annoyed to find there was no more wine there. “Were you considering the other wager?”

“No,” Peter said, then stopped. “Maybe a little.”

“Hmm. I suppose I can’t blame you for that.”

“It wouldn’t have been any better, though.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” Elias thought. “Peter, I’ll tell you something. I think both of our prides are beyond wounded at this point. But no matter what the consequences are, I won’t let Simon win. I refuse. Salesa said all we have to do to win is survive, and maybe he’s right. I know we’ve had enough conflicts in the past, but it’s time to put the past behind us. I don’t want to fight anymore. It gets us nowhere.”

“Nice speech, love,” said Peter.

“Thank you. Now, let’s just try and keep our distance these next few weeks. I believe if we stay away from each other, this will all go very smoothly.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Elias.” Peter raised him a small toast, and Elias raised his empty glass back.

* * *

**Day 14 (but just barely)**

The bedsheets were no longer on the bed. Also, the clothes were no longer on the Peter or the Elias.

Elias sighed. “Well, that didn’t work.”

Peter looked at him. “Back to square one?”

**Day 14 (much later)**

The two of them stared at the bed (which had been remade). Both were waiting for the other to speak.

“You can have it,” Peter said finally. “It’s too small for me, anyway. The couch won’t be much more uncomfortable.[3]”

“Yes, I think that’s best,” said Elias.

* * *

“Alright,” Elias said. “Let’s settle this once and for all.” He spread out a floorplan of the house and pointed to the first floor. “Obviously I’ll take the foyer, since you never leave the house.”

“Ok,” said Peter. “I’ll have the living room, since I’m sleeping there.”

“The _whole_ living room?”

Peter sighed. “Fine. You can have the comfy chair.”

“Thank you. And I’ll split the dining room in half.”

“What about the kitchen?”

“Hmm.” Elias considered. “It would be dangerous to have neutral territory, wouldn’t it?”

“We could try it. Just that one room. Then you can still have supper.”

Elias’s eye twitched. “Would that be the supper that is clam chowder?”

“Yes,” said Peter innocently.

Elias took a deep breath. “Peter,” he said. “Do you _know_... how to make _anything_ – anything at all – that _isn’t_ clam chowder.” It was more of a threat than a question.

Peter looked almost wounded. “I didn’t realize you felt that strongly,” he said. “I’ll figure out something else.”

“Good idea.”

* * *

“Peter.” Elias was sitting in the comfy chair, staring at the exact spot where Peter had just stepped out of the Lonely. “Care to explain what you were doing in the foyer earlier? In _my_ territory?”

“No.” Peter vanished again.

“Peter!” Elias stood. “Get back here – !”

* * *

Peter reappeared. “I was looking for the noise.”

“What?” Elias said from the floor, where he had been taping a line through the center of the house.[4]

“I was in the foyer looking for the noise. The crackle noise. The one _you_ don’t seem to hear.”

“I don’t _seem_ to hear it, Peter, because it isn’t _real_. You’re imagining it.”

“I don’t believe you,” Peter said, and disappeared into smoke.

* * *

The bowl on the dining table was full of clam chowder. Elias picked it up and hurled into the living room.

* * *

“Elias.”

“Yes?” Peter was directly behind him. Elias did not look up from Candy Crush.

“I would like to have the bed for a while, please.”

“No.”

“You said we could switch.”

“I don’t care.”

“Fine. Have it your way, then.” Elias could feel Peter’s icy gaze on the back of his neck as he dissolved.

* * *

When Elias awoke the next morning, the house seemed just a little bit too quiet. Frowning, he sat up groggily.

There was fog curling around the edges of the bedroom door.

“Peter, what...” He squinted, not yet alert enough to be angry, and then blinked awake. “Peter!”

The hallway outside the door was cloudy, seeping with fog that had crawled lazily up the stairwell. Pulling on his robe and slippers, Elias descended to the first floor.

He was horrified to discover that the entire living room was hidden by a thick blanket of fog, and from what he could tell, so were the rooms beyond. Peter was nowhere to be seen.

“No.” The fog was cold. He would have shivered, if he’d been more human. “Peter. Stop playing games. Get back here and fix this.”

There was silence.

“ _Peter!_ ” Elias’s yell was swallowed by the white nothing. He nearly growled. “ _Fine._ If that’s how you want to do it.”

Elias went back upstairs, and he didn’t come back down for several minutes.

When he did come back down, the walls had started blinking at him.

It took him several tries to locate the front door, and when he finally did, he slammed it on his way out. The eyehole gave him a mildly discerning look, and followed his path all the way to the car.

* * *

Elias returned home to see the house had come together nicely. There were several more eyeholes on the front door than there had been that morning, and they all stared unblinkingly as he unlocked it. He smiled.

Inside, the colony of eyes that had manifested in the foyer had done a fairly good job of driving the fog back, and it was now only slightly over the boundary line. The ones on his comfy chair were also glaring holes through the living room.

Satisfied, Elias poured himself a glass of wine in front of the handful of stares coming from the refrigerator door and made his way over to the chair. Sitting down covered up some of the eyes, but it didn’t matter. They could still see everything.

Never one to miss when he was being watched, Elias could sense Peter hovering somewhere nearby on the edge of existence. Smirking, he raised his glass in a toast.

Peter’s presence disappeared.

* * *

The house had become a war zone.

Increasingly, Elias would return to find that several of the eyes had been blinded, irises cloudy with cataract damage. He started spending less and less time at the Institute. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t know what was going on, anyway.

There were more and more fans in the living room to try and blow the haze away. It didn’t work, of course, but it annoyed Peter, and that was all that mattered.

Most of the time, the place was almost deadly silent. The eyes never stopped watching, and the fog never dissipated. No one had set foot in the kitchen in quite a while. _Finally,_ no more fucking clam chowder.

Interestingly, Elias found himself feeling increasingly alert the longer he abstained from the infernal soup, a disruption in his awareness he hadn’t even noticed was happening. It wasn’t a surprise to him that Peter had likely been poisoning him near the end. In fact, he would have been somewhat disappointed if a thing like that _hadn’t_ occurred.

They had both lost track of time. It no longer mattered. All that mattered was winning.

* * *

“One of these days,” Elias snarled to no one, “I’m going to show up covered in blood, and it won’t even be for an interesting reason. It will be because I had to _kill the people causing the traffic._ ”

In his Bentley, Elias swerved through the neighborhood, music playing gently over the car speakers.[5] Trying and failing to hit a startled cat, he eventually pulled into the driveway, turning off the radio with a violent jab.

As he got out of the car, Wallace was standing in front of him, clutching the mail in terror.

“Uh–” Wallace visibly swallowed. “Y-you’re – I.... You like that song?”

With all the power of Beholding flowing through him, Elias turned his stare to Wallace, who could no longer look away. A thousand images of pure terror poured from him, all of the world’s darkest secrets and deepest despairs coming to light. Truth, in its most hateful form, razed Wallace’s mind.

“Wallace Kenneth Donovan,” Elias said. “Have you ever experienced true fear? I think the answer must be no. After all, how could you know what it feels like to bear witness to the pure, unadulterated horror of existing as a creature who can feel and come away entirely transformed? Have you ever felt your heart pounding in your chest and _begged_ it to stop, Wallace? What would it be like, do you think, to scream so loud you do not remember your own name? To forget entirely the possibility of the escape of death. I will show you that, Wallace. You will Know–”

There was a warping noise, and Wallace was gone. Elias blinked in confusion.

A few feet away from him stood Peter, staring at the spot where Wallace had just vanished.

“What?!” Elias shouted, flabbergasted and affronted. “No. Where did he—” The truth dawned on him.

Elias whipped around to face a smiling Peter. “ _You—_ he was _mine._ ”

“He’s not anymore,” said Peter cheerily.

“Peter Lukas,” Elias said with the deepest sincerity he could muster, and the rage reached a crescendo in his eyes. “I’m going to _kill you._ ”

Peter vanished with a wink.

Elias stormed towards the house at full force, not bothering with the door handle. The hinges buckled under his kick. The nearest sharp object was the fireplace poker. He grabbed it with controlled, lethal fury.

“Peeeter,” he crooned, stalking through the hallway as the eyes watched with interest. “Come out. Let’s have a talk. I _promise_ I won’t hurt you.[6]”

“I don’t think I’ll do that, Elias.” Peter’s disembodied voice echoed through the fog. “You’ll have to find me yourself.”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem, Peter. You know it won’t.”

“Are you sure?” said Peter’s voice, brushing past his ear. Elias swung the poker, which sailed through empty fog.

“I’ll find you eventually, you pigeon-livered hornswoggler,[7]” Elias hissed. He climbed the stairs, poker at the ready. “Now... _where are you?_ ”

The upstairs rooms were empty. Elias crawled back through the foyer and the living room, wading through the thick fog and looking for its weak spot. If he could find Peter’s doorway, the jig would be up. Then all he would have to do would be to stab the bastard.

With everywhere else thoroughly searched, Elias entered the kitchen. Without the mastery of his own fear, the kitchen’s very energy would have been unbearable. Reality had nearly bent itself in two to accommodate the oppression each had inflicted to claim the space as his own. Elias tiptoed between the very poor-looking fridge and the unhappy granite island, pantry door somewhere to his left.

“Given up yet?” Peter’s voice was softer here, more earthy and not quite as ephemeral. _Aha,_ Elias thought. _Almost there._

“Have you?” Quickly, Elias spun, and lunged for the pantry door.

Peter materialized in the middle of the kitchen. “No, don’t open that door–”

Triumphantly, Elias wrenched the door open – and was buried in a tidal wave of cans. Flailing and shouting, he crumpled to the floor. As he tried to drag himself from beneath the pile, he noticed they all appeared to be the exact same type of can. He picked one up.

The label read:

‘Smart Value – Clam Chowder’

Realization dawning over him, Elias looked at Peter, utterly insulted. “I should have known,” he sneered, “that the _Lukases_ don’t have _family recipes_.”

“Alright,” Peter sighed, looking defeated. “I’ll come clean, then. I’ve been feeding you Lonely.”

“What are you talking about,” Elias spat. “You can’t ‘feed’ someone Lonely, Peter. That’s not how it works.”

“It’s a prepackaged meal,” Peter shrugged. “There’s not much Lonelier than that.”

Elias rolled his eyes. “Good lord, Peter. Why couldn’t you have used arsenic like a normal person?”

“You never want me to be creative. I try something new and all you do is insult me.”

“That’s _it_ , Peter. I have had _enough_ of you. Come here and let me run you through or _get_ out of my sight.”

“It’s my house, too, Elias.” Peter loomed over Elias, who was still on the floor. “You can’t make me leave.”

“It’s neither of our houses, Peter, it’s a suburban home that we are living in because we stupidly thought we could stand each other for longer than a few days. I don’t know how I could have been so blind. You’re _intolerable_. You abhor me.”

“ _You_ find _me_ intolerable? You’re selfish, and an egomaniacal little man who can’t stand to be out of the center of attention for a single second. You’re–”

There was a crackling noise. Peter froze.

Elias’s face split into a delighted, crazed grin, and he began to laugh, low and subtle at first, then splitting into a wild abandon.

“What’s so funny, Elias? What do you know that I don’t?” Peter said darkly.

“Would you like to know what’s so funny, Peter? Would you like to know what that hateful noise is?” Elias held up an object – an unmarked, vintage tape recorder, with the record button pressed in. “It’s _these_. They’ve been here, recording us, since the very first day.”

“You’ve been cataloguing us?” Peter’s anger was palpable.

Elias shook his head, still laughing. “Oh no, Peter, that’s the best part. I haven’t done a single thing. They _want_ to be here. They want to hear us destroy each other. They love it. They find it _fascinating_. I’m being watched just as much as you are, Peter. Isn’t that just _delightful_?”

Peter’s face floundered like a fish, settling on looking absolutely flummoxed. “Then why wouldn’t you say anything?” he said.

“ _Because I hate you._ [8]”

“You’re unbelievable—”

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Both of them whirled around to face the direction the sound had come from.

“Oh, very good. Someone’s come to see what all the fighting is about.” Elias stood, still gripping the poker at full force. “Why don’t we _show_ them what all the fighting’s about.”

“Elias, let’s not—”

Elias was already marching towards the door with a bloodlust that would have made the Slaughter proud. He gripped the handle and—

“Jonah! So good to see you.” A chipper Simon Fairchild stood at the door, with Mikaele Salesa in tow. “And may I offer my sincerest congratulations.”

“I—your what?” said Elias.

“My congratulations. To you and Peter. Aren’t you aware of what day it is? In just–” Simon glanced at his watch. “–a few short minutes, your month is up. You’ve won.”

“We’ve what?” said Peter, who had silently crept up beside Elias.

Realization flared in Elias’s eyes. “Peter,” he said. “We’ve won. We’ve done it.”

“Oh,” Peter said. “Wait. Have we really?”

“Indeed you have,” said Simon, pulling out his checkbook. “I must admit defeat. Now, what will the first honeymoon be?”

“Thirty seconds,” said Salesa, looking at his own watch.

“The first... honeymoon?” said Elias, saying the word as if it were bile in his throat.

“Well, of course. You have unlimited funds from me now, and I’m sure the two of you will want to take a nice, relaxing trip together to celebrate your victory. So, where will it be?”

Simon’s pen was at the ready. Salesa stared at the second hand.

Elias and Peter looked at each other.

“Five, four, three, two—”

* * *

The beach in front of Elias felt soothing beneath his feet, an almost perfect temperature. He took a deep breath as he soaked the sun’s rays into his skin. The ocean was the clearest blue he’d ever seen. The sky was the clearest blue he’d ever seen.

The sand was the clearest blue he’d ever seen.

Oh, right. He was falling.

Elias opened his eyes to nothing but sky blue around him. The never-ending sunlight beat down, harsh and unrelenting. He couldn’t tell which way was up, or even how much time had passed since he’d last closed his eyes. It was all very annoying.

Peter might have called the escapist use of his Beholding powers unfair, but Peter wasn’t around to say so. Elias adjusted his designer sunglasses as somewhere below him, or above him, a screaming Mikaele Salesa rocketed past. Elias hadn’t seen Peter in days. The sky was wide open and crystal clear, and as horrid as it was it was all his own. He was free.

Finally, at long last, there was room enough for the two of them.

* * *

1This was a lie.[return to text]

2This work is not owned by the Stranger, endorsed by the Stranger, or otherwise affiliated with the Stranger.[return to text]

3This was blatantly incorrect.[return to text]

4Yes, _exactly_ like in children’s cartoons.[return to text]

5There were a few things Elias would never admit even under threat of death. One of them was whether or not he truly loved Peter. Another was that he enjoyed the song he was currently listening to.[return to text]

6This was a falsehood of proportions that would make George Washington’s ears burn.[return to text]

7A cowardly cheat, but from the olden times.[return to text]

8This was wholeheartedly true.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot Mikaele Salesa presumably died at some point before Jon became the Archivist, but also the wiki isn’t doing a very good job of telling me when that is, so fuck it, who cares. Maybe he actually survived. Jonny can’t keep track of dates so I can do what I want.
> 
> The next chapter is an epilogue! Surprise! See you in a few days :)


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a complete fool and forgot to link [this fantastic artwork by evynyx-jpg](https://evynyx-jpg.tumblr.com/post/190564139872/its-the-neighborhoods-voted-worst-spouses-of) on tumblr. Please go look at it, it fits this fic so well. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and loving this fic and putting up with my very stupid footnotes. I am infinitely grateful for all of you.

**Three months later**

“Post for you, Mr. Bouchard.” Rosie pecked on Elias’s office door as she walked in, hands full of packaging. “There’s no return address on these. Shall I hold onto them for you? Could be something nasty, like a bomb.” Her eyes lit up with mock astonishment, and she smiled.

“No thank you, Rosie, that will be fine.” Elias took the pile she handed him and set the official mail aside.

What remained in his hands were two flat envelopes and a small package. Just as she had said, none of them had any return addresses.

Elias opened the first envelope and, frowning with something that may have been confusion, put the papers back inside. He opened the second envelope, and a look of understanding passed over his face. He switched the envelopes around.

The first envelope contained a few legal documents and a marriage certificate. Elias signed his own name next to Peter’s.

The second envelope was somewhat thicker, and contained many legal documents. Elias read through all of them faster than he should have been able to and, satisfied, signed the divorce contract.

He set the envelopes aside and picked up the package. It was little enough that it could fit in his hand. Neatly, he ripped off the brown paper protecting it.

The box underneath was hard and gilded, and the lid that made up its top half opened smoothly. Inside was a rather ornate silver ring, laid with curved motifs that might have resembled ocean waves, and set with a single, perfectly sky blue stone.

There was a note in the box, folded and stuffed into the top half. It read:

_To next time_

_P.L._

Smiling with dry amusement, and a hint of something that just might have been fondness, Elias slid the ring onto his left wedding finger. It would stay there, until he got bored of it, or maybe until he wanted a new one. He hadn’t yet decided.

Elias pulled out a piece of stationary and began to write. When he was done, he placed it in the divorce envelope.

_Peter,_

_Here’s to making everyone unfortunate enough to know us miserable, and wasting Simon Fairchild’s time and money._

_Send word when you’re back on shore._

_Elias J.M._

He relaxed in his chair. Elias knew, from living as long as he had, that history tended to repeat itself. He smiled, and his fingers played idly with one of Barnabas Bennett’s bones.

He was ready to do it all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [hhawkeyepierce](hhawkeyepierce.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


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